The Gift

“Life itself- our human lives- is a gift. Our lives, our talents, our abilities, our privilege to be human are given to us, and like all gifts they are not to be hoarded. They are not to be devoted, like the capital of classical economics, to the endless increase of me and mine, but must be passed on lest they stagnate and decay. The circle- really a gift web- takes care of its own, just as the ecological web of nature sustains every species within it. In other words, each gift eventually finds its way, usually in some altered form, back to the giver.” – Charles Eisenstein

This is your introduction to the book that I am just finishing up and that I would give to every person on the planet if I could. Yet even if I did, I recognize that it’s not easy to get through all 512 of its dense pages. The book is The Ascent of Humanity by Charles Eisenstein. So instead of imploring you to read it (please do ;-), I’ll just share the gist of it as it comes up in the moment. This is one of those moments.

Earlier this month I celebrated my 49th birthday. While I most often forget, always swimming around in my subconscious such that I do sometimes remember, is the awareness that I am only here by the stroke of a miracle. No, really. Actually, this is true for all of us. Think about the infinite number of contingencies that led to the creation of you. Any ever so slightly different turn of events and no you. My story has just always been a little more direct, if not in my face about it.

I almost died at birth. Long story short, my blood is RH positive and my mom’s is RH negative. I was the second child, with an older brother who is also RH positive. RH negative blood registers the protein in RH positive blood as a pathogen. That means that when an RH negative mother has an RH positive child, her immune system kicks in to create antibodies. The first child escapes unscathed. If another comes along, however, the antibodies get right to work. There is no polite way to say this (sorry, Mom), but quite literally my mother’s blood was trying to kill me the entire time I was in the womb. These days the problem has been eliminated pharmaceutically. But not back then. Back then, nobody even knew that I was in a fight for my life. When I entered the world I was, by all accounts, as orange as an orange. I was lucky to have made it to birth. The survival rate at the time was 50/50, and it was very much looking like I would fall on the losing side of that equation.

To add insult to injury, our doctor was out of town… and the hospital was not equipped to deal with me. My mother, who just happens to be a registered nurse, has always made it her business to know every doctor in town. Without hesitation, she commanded the hospital to load me and my dad into an ambulance and take me across town to a specific doctor. She was not allowed to come with. The chosen doctor received me and immediately got me hooked up to an incubator. Now imagine the incredible liability that doctors face. They have standard procedures to follow such that if they don’t, malpractice can destroy their careers. My blood cell count hit the magic level that dictated that a blood transfusion be performed or death would surely follow. But for God only knows what reason, the anointed doctor said, “Wait. Let’s just wait. Give her a moment.” And so they did, for a long while. Days. My blood count didn’t budge. It stayed right there until I ultimately caught my snap.

So here I am. I didn’t escape entirely unscathed, but I made it into this world. My maternal grandmother was a first had witness to this turn of events. Growing up, there was not a day that I spent with her that she did not tell me this story and remind me at least 10 times a day- much to my annoyance- that I was just a “miracle baby.” That’s the in my face part of the story. While I didn’t appreciate these incessant reminders as a child, I do now. I implore my internal maternal grandmother to remind myself as often as I can. I forget too often.

But when I do remember, what it calls my attention to is that I am here, by God! Every single day of my life has been a gift. What to do with it? Well, the answer to that question is in a constant state of discovery. Each day brings new clues. I heed them to the best of my ability. What I understand for sure is that there is only one me. I have a unique essence. I have my own unique gifts to offer. Nobody but me can give these gifts to the world. The only question then is, “to give or not to give?” The answer is obvious, but the execution takes awareness, courage, and action. Most of all, it takes a heapful of love.

So instead of sending everyone in the world a copy of this visionary book, I’ll instead pass along the gift of just one insight. You are a miracle. You have your own unique essence. You have your own unique gift to offer that nobody else in the world can give but you. For those of you celebrating this season in whatever religious tradition you follow, know that this idea of gift giving is sacred. It isn’t menial. It isn’t about commodification. It is meant to help us to remember that we have a gift to give in the first place. Give it. Give it wholeheartedly with no expectation of return and it will return to you threefold. That is true because we are already, and were never anything other than, one big, divine, beautiful interbeing. Your unique role is essential to the evolution of our interbeing. Give what only you can give.

“To live in the gift means to approach each person and each choice with the attitude, ‘What can I create? What can I give?'” – Charles Eisenstein

As you contemplate this season of giving, I offer you this final question:

“What would I most love to give to the world?” – Charles Eisenstein

Love to you all, and thank you for the gift that you are.